Clapper rails don’t sing. They cackle. It’s a guttural call emanating from somewhere deep within each tiny bird that reverberates with enough force to trigger a cascade. Once one rail calls, every rail within earshot erupts into its own chorus. The cacophony sends a ripple through the salt marsh and shatters its peaceful silence like glass.
Today, however, there is no peace, and there is no silence. It’s already been shattered. A violent collision of arctic air and Gulf Stream winds just smacked the mid-Atlantic shore. Now, the rails and I are caught knee-deep in the chaos.
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